Blood Ties
by geecoral
Summary: This is the making of Daryl Dixon; his past, his horrors, and those who made him the man he is today. This is his story.
1. The Start

**1971**

It wasn't the best of houses in the town, but I always managed to keep it neat and tidy. But with a six year old to take care of, that wasn't always easy. Merle was hyperactive and boisterous, just like any boy of his age, usually charging through rooms like a hurricane and undoing all of my tidying. "That boy is out of control," my mother would always say. Nevertheless, I saw the sweet, polite side to him no one else did. People didn't give him enough of a chance to be himself. I did. He was my son, after all.

Will preferred this end of town. It was where he had grown up and his friends and family all lived here. It was a community in itself, located through a winding path through the trees, set away from the main streets of town where I grew up. This life was alien to me when I first married Will and moved to this part, where all of the ranch-styled houses looked as shabby as the next. I tried my best to keep the gardens clear and the porch clean, but tossed beer bottles and cans usually find their way back.

I'm not saying my upbringing was drastically different to how Will's was; yes, I was brought up on the "upper" side of town, but in a small mountain town like ours, that meant nothing to what city-folk would call "upper class". We did have a nice house, though, and my mother always kept everything clean and in order. I guess you could say that was where I got my cleanliness and my pride in appearances from. Will had no regard for appearances, however. He was messy and I spent more of my time cleaning up after him than Merle.

I didn't have a choice. It was that or…you know. _That_.

It was on a Tuesday that I did my grocery shopping before going to pick Merle up from school. He was in the First Grade at the only Elementary School in town, and while he usually got into trouble with the teachers and other children, he seemed excited today.

"We was learnin' about aquatic mammals, Mommy," Merle told me from the backseat of the car, holding some of the groceries I couldn't fit in the trunk. We had money this month, hence the copious amount of food I had hurriedly bought before Will had the chance to spend it all.

"Did you?" I asked excitedly. I loved to see him smile – he rarely did. "What did you learn?"

Merle scrunched his face up. He did that whenever he was thinking.

"I don't remember, mommy…but I liked it!"

We eventually pulled into our driveway. The garage was already occupied with Will's "work in progress" – a truck that he has been "fixing" for over five years now. Merle helped me take in the groceries and then went off play with his action figures while I put away. It didn't take me long. I then sat at the kitchen table, looking out of the window above the sink while I smoked, watching the summer's sun shine bright in the clear blue sky. It didn't look to be getting dark for a while yet, so I finished my cigarette and played catch with Merle outside.

Will wasn't back in time for tea. I didn't expect him to be. The door rapped three brash times while I placed Will's covered plate in the refrigerator for when he got home. Merle hovered in the hallway as I opened the door to three men.

"Will home?" The shortest man demanded, hands in the pockets of his corduroy jacket. His head was completely shaved with tattoos scattered along his scalp. The one that stood out the most to me was two lightning bolts on the side of his head that I remembered Will had stitched on some of his jackets.

"He's working, but if y'all have a message for him, I would be more than happy to pass it along," I answered politely, eyes flicking to the two larger men who glared down at me. I felt intimidated by them. I'd never seen them before.

The shorter man gave a brief glance up at the man on his right, a small smirk lingering on the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. We got a message for him," he said, and instantly pushed his way into the house, grabbing me by the throat as he did.

He pushed me all the way into the living room while I screamed for Merle to hide. I couldn't see where he had gone and felt some relief that the men weren't interested in hurting him – they just wanted to hurt me. I endured punch after kick until my legs gave away from under me and I sprawled on the floor, continuing to take the hits. I was a pro at taking hits and kicks by now, and I prayed Merle would never be; I prayed he would never experience physical abuse.

"Why?" I pleaded through tears of pain and confusion. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Teachin'…Will…a lesson!" The short man grunted through each kick to my stomach. "Teach him…to not pay me…my money!"

My head spun. I couldn't comprehend what he was saying. _What did he want with me? Why was he hurting me when Will was the one he wanted?_ It didn't make any sense at that moment, and it wasn't long until I blacked out, waking again only a few minutes later because of a sharp, burning sensation between my legs. I opened my swollen eyes to see the short man on top of me, thrusting vigorously as his hand squeezed my throat. This wasn't the first time I had woken to something like this, but it didn't make it any easier.

I thrashed around as wildly as I could in an attempt to stop this man from raping me, gasping for air through my tightened windpipe. I managed to get a good hit to the short man's head, in which resulted in the two men pinning my arms down throughout the last of the ordeal that felt as though it had been going on forever; the ordeal that caused the conception of my second son, Daryl Dixon.


	2. Daddy's Home

**1972**

 _Merle's POV_

This is the longest time Mommy has stayed in bed. She went to bed at night time and now it's night time again. I haven't seen Daddy for a while now. They fight a lot. I think it's because of the empty bottles all on the floor of our house that I have to tip-toe over to get anywhere.

Daryl is crying in his crib. I think he's hungry because I'm hungry too. I tried to give him milk from the refrigerator, but he just vomited it back up and now he smells even worse than his dirty diaper that no way am I cleaning.

"Mommy?" I try to shake her awake. I feel a little bit scared because she usually gets mad if I wake her. She never used to be like this. It makes me sad thinking that she has changed since those men came in and hurt her. I can remember it and I sometimes see it when I'm sleeping, right in my brain when I'm trying to sleep. I don't like thinking about it, but I can't make it go away.

Mommy slaps my hand away and it stings. She tells me to leave her alone, but I won't. "Daryl is crying again," I tell her.

It takes a lot of shaking for her to get out of bed. When she does, she nearly falls over and I try to help her but she slaps my hand again. It stings even more this time, but I don't say anything just in case she slaps me again. I follow her into Daryl's room, staying by the door so I can make sure she stops Daryl from crying properly and doesn't just leave him again.

I watch my mommy pick up my baby brother. "Y'all stink, boy!" She says in that strange way that sounds like her words just fall out of her mouth. It doesn't sound like my mommy. I think it has something to do with the bottles of liquid on the floor that smell even worse than beer. I watch as she takes Daryl to the changing mat and wipes the poop away in a few quick wipes, then putting a clean diaper on him. It makes me feel better seeing Daryl clean, but he still won't stop crying and it is getting louder the more time he is with Mommy. I can see that Mommy is getting mad.

"Stop crying now," Mommy sighs at Daryl, picking him up. He won't stop and she sighs louder. "Daryl, that's enough now."

Still, my little brother won't stop and I start to feel little worms wriggling in my tummy – like butterflies, but grosser. I stay by the door, wanting to go over and take Daryl from my mommy, but I feel like I am frozen like a statue. I watch as Daryl screams louder and Mommy starts to shake Daryl, her eyes wide as cups and mouth twisted like a rabid dog.

"Shut your fuckin' mouth, Devil Child!" Mommy screams in Daryl's face as she shakes him, his little head wiggling back and forth like a doll. Mommy is crying and her face is all red. Watching makes my tummy feel even worse and my ears hurt from Daryl's screaming. I think Mommy is hurting Daryl.

"Mommy, stop!" I finally manage to shout over Daryl's crying. She doesn't, so I have to go over and shake _her_ to get her attention. "You're hurtin' him!"

When Mommy finally puts Daryl back in his crib and goes downstairs, I climb in with him and pick him up for a hug. He is cold so I wrap him up in a blanket and rock him gently, like I had seen on TV – except the babies on TV looked chubby and happy. Daryl didn't; I could count all of his bones easily, and I never saw him smile. No one ever smiled in Daddy's house anymore.

At least Daryl isn't crying anymore. I see vomit on him again, so I clean it with the end of his blanket. His eyes are closed. I think he's sleeping. I guess being shaken and screamed at is tiring. My tummy still doesn't feel very good, and it feels even worse when I hear the door burst open downstairs…

Daddy's home.

* * *

 _Will's POV_

Kathy is gonna flip her shit when she finds out I've blown all my paycheck on poker again.

Well who damn cares? It's my paycheck to do whatever I fuckin' please with, right? The bitch will probably be in bed again – passed out – the house a damn mess still. I dunno what happened to that girl, but I don't like it. She aint been the same since that little shit came along: drinkin' all day and neglecting my house that _I_ pay for. Too damn right I deserve to spend my money how I please when she don't appreciate what I give her! She don't know how damn good she's got it. Yeah, I give her a few beatings every now and again, but don't everyone? My mom got beat, and that didn't do her no harm. Heck, I got beat and I turned out just fine.

The kitchen light is on as I turn down the drive. I linger outside the door, wondering how I'm going to pay the bills this month. How I'm going to eat. I feel a surge of anger deep within my chest; I wouldn't have felt the need to go and play poker if my damn wife did her job and was good to me. This is _her_ fault – not mine.

I kick the door open. My foot connecting with somethin' made me feel better. Kathy is sat at the table in the kitchen, smoking with a glass of whisky in her hand and a half empty bottle placed beside her. She gives me a brief glance with her dead blue eyes before staring at nothing in particular on the wall again. She is wearing the same clothes she's been wearing for days now - the lazy bitch ain't even bothered to get changed, let alone wash.

"You dirty little bitch," I sneer, feeling my hands automatically clenching into fists. "This place fucking stinks and most of it is comin' from you. When's the last time you damn bathed?"

She gave a shrug, like she couldn't care less about what I was saying. That made me even madder.

"You damn answer me now!" I warn her, pointing a finger at her.

"I don't know," she slurs after a while. Then her eyes flick back to me again. "When's the last time _you_ bathed?"

I see red. I always do when she answers me back. I don't know whether it was the alcohol, the loss of my money, or the disgust in my wife, but I just want to _hurt_ her. So I throw the table out of my way and it crashes against the wall, the contents falling off and hitting the floor. I dive on her, knocking her off of her chair and grasping her throat in my meaty hands. I squeeze but her choking isn't enough, so I use her neck to hit her head repeatedly off the tiles. She is screaming the best she can through her tightened windpipe - it comes out as a gargle. I can't stop screaming at her, wanting her to know how pissed off I am and that my misery is all her fault.

I am interrupted by Merle repeatedly screaming, "Daddy stop!"

"What is it, boy?" I bark at him, jumping off Kathy and pushing my face into Merle's. I am shaking with rage, but I will not hurt my boy. That I would never do.

"Daryl isn't breathing," Merle sobs. "M-Mommy hurt him and he isn't breathing."

I feel my heart drop to my stomach and suddenly my anger is gone. I hurry upstairs, Merle closely behind, and burst into Daryl's room to find the boy in his crib, his skin bluish and vomit all over. Merle's right. Daryl isn't breathing. I start to panic but I know that won't help the situation, so I wipe the vomit away from my baby's chin and blow into his mouth to put air back into his lungs. It takes a few goes, but he eventually starts to breathe again and I'm left rocking my boy, shooting daggers at the horrified face of my stupid fuckin' wife in the doorway.

* * *

 **Author's** **Note:** **So** **this turned out more violent that what I originally planned. And boy, it's about to get worse. So I've changed the rating to 'M', just to be safe.**

 **Thank y'all for reading!**

 **Gee.**


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